


Broken Toy Soldiers

by Promiscuous_Pidge



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Promiscuous_Pidge/pseuds/Promiscuous_Pidge
Summary: In an attempt to impress his friend Otabek, Yurio crashes his motorcycle and needs to amputate his arm. Now he feels as if his career is over, and there's nothing left for him.





	Broken Toy Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked to write this from my writing blog (@pidge-writes) and now here it is, wohoo!

 

 

 

It had been a while now since Yuri Plisetsky had considered the word "impossible". To call a task impossible implied that it could not be done, and Yurio had long since decided that his passion for skating would crumble that word, tossing its dust onto the ice he skated on. Ever since he was a young boy, it was all he could do to keep going, to make people astonished, to make himself proud.

 

But that had changed. As the beeping grew somehow louder in the otherwise silent room and the smell of sterilizers filled his nose, Yurio couldn't find the will to open his eyes again. So he let his mind wander instead.

 

He'd finally added the word "impossible" back into his vocabulary.

 

It had been impossible to think he could drive Otabek's motorcycle alone. Impossible for that to have been a decent decision, he knew that. But it wasn't supposed to have cost him his arm.

 

A door opened to his left, and he could tell by the heavy footsteps that his grandpa had come back. Most likely bearing more flowers. Did he really need this many flowers?

 

"How's he doing?"

 

That wasn't his grandpa's voice. What the hell was _Katsudon_ doing here?

 

"He'll be alright. Just resting for a while," his grandpa replied. He sounded as tired as Yurio felt.

 

Yurio risked opening his left eye just a crack, enough to see the Japanese man set a small vase of flowers on the table opposite his bed. In it sat a small pink card that he wasn't looking forward to reading.

 

Yuuri turned his head to stare at the poor boy helplessly lying in the sheets. The sympathetic and hurt look in his eyes only aggravated Yurio. He didn't want him looking down on him; they were supposed to be equals on and off the ice.

 

He didn't know if Yuuri noticed he was awake, but he at least had the decency to give him his space. Yurio sighed in relief when he heard the door close a few moments later.

 

"Yurochka, this is the fifth time he's visited. I know you're awake."

 

Yurio groaned and shifted into a slight sitting position, struggling to ignore the absence of the extra help. "I don't want to talk to him," he grumbled.

 

"I think it would help you to talk to _someone_. You'll have to get out of that hospital bed eventually," his grandpa replied simply. There was no hint of anger in his voice. Yurio knew he was only trying to help.

 

With another deep sigh, Yurio turned his attention to the door. He could technically get up. He was allowed to get up. And it wouldn't hurt to move around and stretch his sore muscles for a bit.

 

Pointedly avoiding eye contact with his grandpa, he shimmied his legs over to the side of the hospital bed. He stared at his feet for several long moments, knowing he'd have to brace the unbalanced feeling when he stood up.

 

"If you need something to help you-"

 

"No thank you, I can do it."

 

Yurio hadn't been on his feet in several days, so suddenly standing up made him a bit wobbly. Thankfully his grandpa knew when to let him be and allow him to adjust.

 

He refused to hold on to anything. If he needed to get used to something as silly and simple as walking, he'd do it on his own accord.

 

He turned to his grandpa. "I'll be in the hall," he said, earning a small nod in response.

 

In the hallway, Yurio shuffled along the cold hospital floor, keeping close to the right wall. He hadn't bothered to put on any shoes or socks. It felt nice to feel something beneath his feet that wasn't the itchy blanket; it made him feel like he was still grounded.

 

He didn't have a real destination. Every few minutes he'd take a break and lean against the wall for a breather, then resume his walk. Some of the nurses would offer a polite smile to him when they passed, others didn't even acknowledge him.

 

One particular nurse carried a vase overflowing with flowers in her arms, and Yurio desperately hoped she wasn't heading to his room. He was getting absolutely sick of flowers. With all of his fans and friends bringing get-well cards and stuffed animals to his bedside table over the past several days, the little room was becoming cramped.

 

That's why he was enjoying the openness of the hallway. Still, he was averting the gaze of anyone who stared too long, very aware of the empty sleeve of his hospital gown swinging through the air.

 

"Hey, Yuri."

 

Yurio's eyes snapped up to meet Otabek's calm gaze. He immediately felt his face heat up in embarrassment and shame. He hadn't actually seen his friend since the accident—he didn't really blame him for not showing up—and now he just wanted to run off and hide.

 

Instead, he managed a weak, "Hey, Beka."

 

Otabek looked like he was trying to hide how concerned he was, but Yurio could still see it. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

 

Of course he wasn't, but Yurio refused to tell him that. "Yeah, I'm okay," he replied.

 

"That's good," Otabek said with a nod. "When do you get out?"

 

"Tomorrow," he said. He'd fought to get out earlier, and after nearly two weeks of observation, he was finally free tomorrow. Well, not really "free."

 

Otabek nodded, never losing the cool look in his dark eyes. The way he stared at Yurio sent shivers down his back, and it took everything in him not to shrink into himself. While he knew his friend wouldn't speak of what happened to him, the silent exchange of thoughts was enough conversation to hit Yurio with shame a second time.

 

Before the silence could end their meeting, Otabek spoke up. "I saw that nurse heading over to your room. I think those were from Viktor," he said.

 

Yurio sighed. Of course the extravagant Viktor Nikiforov would send extravagant flowers. But he was a little shocked at what he'd said.

 

"You know where my room is?"

 

Otabek's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You thought I didn't?"

 

In truth, Yurio thought he just hadn't come to see him. Which he still wouldn't have been completely opposed to. He reasoned that he must have stopped by while he was sleeping. "Sorta," he answered.

 

A small frown tugged at Otabek's lips. "I wouldn't not come to check on you."

 

Yurio had to bite his tongue to not ask why. Instead, he nodded absently. "Thanks," he said.

 

The two boys watched each other silently for a few moments while the awkwardness of the situation grew. Yurio wasn't used to feeling that way around him.

 

"I should probably...go back to my room."

 

"Sure thing," Otabek said. He waved, and as Yurio turned to head back, he heard him call again, "See you on the ice." And Yurio froze.

 

On the ice? Yurio was at a loss. He didn't know if it was a habit or actual hope, but Otabek should have known better than to say that.

 

"...no, you won't." The words were out before Yurio could stop himself, and he turned around to face Otabek once more. "You can't really think that I can get back from this."

 

The other watched him, brow furrowing in either shock or confusion. "You can't really think that it's not worth trying," he said.

 

"Not worth—Otabek, my _arm_ is _gone_! Do you not get that? It's over for me." Tears were burning his eyes, and he hated that he was crying over this. "It's over."

 

Otabek opened his mouth to speak, but Yurio was already hurrying away from him. Even having spent so much time alone at the hospital, solitude was exactly what he wanted at that moment. He wanted to lay down without feeling empty and broken, a blanket laced with blank thoughts covering his head and shielding himself from the outside and his future.

 

Yurio's grandpa wasn't in the room when he returned, probably off finding some food or in the bathroom. Fine by him. He could feign sleep while he waited for him to get back.

 

Tears were still finding their way onto his pillow as he tried to lay on his left side, on his remaining arm and facing away from the door. All the thoughts and feelings he'd tried to ignore came crashing over him like an ocean wave in the quiet. It didn't matter how much he wanted them to go away. He had to fully realize what was going on now. What it meant for his career.

 

He couldn't skate anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Yurio spent the next month at home with his grandpa in Moscow. He'd pet and play with his cat, watch movies, and laze around most of the day. And it was starting to drive him insane.

 

Years of waking up early for practice had left their mark on his internal clock, and he repeatedly found himself trying to get up and dress to head to the ice, only to realize his mistake and try to go back to bed.

 

The previous week Yakov had shown up. Yurio had been very surprised to find Nikolai talking to his coach by the front door, and he'd wondered why Yakov would fly all the damn way here to talk to him. They had phones. Unsurprisingly, his intentions were to speak to Yurio.

 

He hadn't wanted to be too disrespectful, so he'd listened to him. Something about not letting his talents go to waste, trying again, finding a way around it. People kept telling him to get around it.

 

Why couldn't they just understand that he was trapped like this?

 

Yurio had tried his best to be vague in his replies to his coach, and he made sure not to promise anything. Doing that would mean he was bound to something.

 

He wasn't the only person to visit, though. Viktor and Yuuri had flown to Moscow three times to shower him with more uplifting tales and words of encouragement. They'd even brought ingredients to make katsudon for him in his own kitchen. He'd shared a few smiles, for sure, but he was still far from being himself again.

 

Otabek still texted him every so often. Yurio would try to respond, and sometimes he did, though it was usually short and not very informative. He did manage to apologize for their last encounter, though. The Kazakh man was at his own home, keeping up with his family. Yurio just didn't know how to talk to him lately.

 

It was during one of those mornings he was deep in browsing through Netflix when a knock at the door got him up. His grandpa was on the back porch, and Yurio knew he wouldn't hear the sound, so he answered it instead.

 

"Yuri, you're up."

 

"Otabek?" said Yurio. He definitely didn't expect to see him of all people.

 

"I tried calling you a few times, but you didn't answer. I assumed you were asleep." Otabek offered a lazy smile, and he looked a bit tired. "I was going to ask you a favor."

 

Still too shocked at how he suddenly showed up in Moscow, Yurio only stared blankly with his mouth slightly agape. Finally, he asked, "What favor?"

 

Otabek Altin had never been a secretive person. He was always to the point and had little mystery to solve. So Yurio was not expecting him to ask him to get dressed to leave the house with no other explanation.

 

"Why are we leaving? Do you even know the places around here?"

 

He leaned against the doorframe. "I asked around. You just go get ready, unless you don't want to. I'll understand."

 

They paused for a few moments. "Okay, fine," Yurio finally said. "I'll be out in a minute."

 

Yurio had no idea how to dress with a missing arm. Did he tie off the end of a jacket? Should he wear something with short sleeves? Probably not, considering the average weather. He eventually settled for a black t-shirt with his leopard jacket. It was his standard outfit, he knew, but he didn't know how to work with it. In the end, he just let it hang.

 

His phone sat on his bed, untouched for several days. Between the worried fan messages and constant texts from people he knew, he found it best to just leave it alone. That must have been why Otabek thought he was sleeping. With a sigh, he took it up and slipped it into his pocket.

 

Otabek was waiting for him by the door, scrolling through his phone until Yurio cleared his throat. "Ready?" he asked.

 

"I guess." Yurio didn't exactly know what to expect, but he figured he just had to roll with it.

 

It wasn't too cold out when Otabek opened the door for him. Thankfully he didn't see a motorcycle anywhere, and his suspicions were confirmed when his friend told him they were walking.

 

Otabek looked his way when they started to walk. "Do you want to leave the sleeve like that?" he asked carefully.

 

It did look a bit awkward, he admitted. "I don't really know what to do with it," Yurio said, feeling his face heat up slightly in embarrassment.

 

"I can tie it for you. It'll look messy, but it might help." Even if it felt weird to have Otabek help him with clothing, he did appreciate the offer.

 

"Alright," he said. He stood still as Otabek tied off his right sleeve near his shoulder.

 

"You know," Otabek said as he stepped back, "they do make special clothes you could wear. I found a few websites you could take a look at."

 

"They do?" Yurio asked. He didn't know why he was surprised by that; of course they would make those. The fact that he'd gone and looked them up for him was what made him a bit happier.

 

Otabek nodded and they began walking. "Mh-hm. You should look it up."

 

Yurio smiled a little. He was trying to cheer him up again. "Sure thing," he said.

 

They walked primarily in silence, Otabek looking forward and sporting his usual stoic expression. Every once in a while they'd spark a small conversation that lasted about a minute, but Yurio was glad that their pauses felt less awkward. Though he couldn't say the same for the way he felt when people kept their eyes on him for too long.

 

When they turned a few more corners, Yurio held his breath, finally realizing where they were headed. He recognized the building he used to visit all the time when he lived here—who forgets where they learned to skate?

 

Otabek must have noticed his sudden tension, because he stopped and turned to Yurio. "I got them to clear it out for you. It's just us in there, so don't worry."

 

A rink to himself, here? While it did sound appealing, he wasn't sure if he wanted to set foot on the ice. His emotions wouldn't share his desires with him. Nonetheless, he ended up walking silently to the door and staring at his reflection in the dark glass.

 

He'd been doing that a lot lately, it had seemed. Every chance he could see his reflection, he stared at himself. Sometimes with anger, other times sadness, or just plain hurt. He didn't know what to make of himself.

 

Suddenly he threw open the door, disrupting the image and storming inside. Just like Otabek had said, it was completely empty, save for a few staff members cleaning up. The cool air greeted him with a simple kind of welcome, like seeing a long-time family member after a tiring day.

 

Otabek followed him inside. He gave a curt nod to one of the staff, and she quickly scurried off to the back room.

 

Yurio sat himself on one of the benches by the door, removed his jacket, and began untying his shoelaces. Otabek, to his surprise, stayed where he was.

 

"You're not skating?" Yurio asked.

 

The woman on the staff reappeared holding a pair of black skates. Otabek shook his head. "Just you, today," he said.

 

"Here you go, Mr. Plisetsky," the woman chimed as she set the skates by his side. He thanked her without looking as he held them up. These were _his_ skates.

 

"How are these here?" he asked before he could think not to.

 

Otabek offered the faintest smile. "Yakov."

 

Of course Yakov would help him if meant helping his student back on the scene.

 

Yurio stared down at his sock-clad feet. All he needed to do was put on his skates. Just that, and he'd take the first step. That's all he told himself. Slowly, one foot after the other, he slipped his feet into the skates and pulled on the strings with his left hand, grunting as he attempted to tie the laces. Normal shoes had been enough of a hassle.

 

"Just keep trying, you'll get it." Otabek spoke calmly and confidently, clearly optimistic of Yurio's chances.

 

"I am trying," he replied, feeling increasingly annoyed. After about a minute of attempts, he managed to wrangle them into looking half-decent.

 

He stood up slowly, looking past Otabek to the ice. Just a few strides over. "Beka, I don't know if I can-"

 

"You can," Otabek interrupted. "Trust me, you can work through it."

 

Yurio had no choice but to relent, so he walked over to the edge of the rink. His balance walking on the blades wasn't as catastrophic as he'd imagined it would be, though he didn't get his hopes up. The ice immediately proved to be less forgiving.

 

At first he skated out to the center with ease, but when he tried to turn too sharply he stumbled. A hiss escaped him as he fought to regain his balance, and he spotted Otabek leaning with his arms crossed on the railing. He didn't say anything, only watched Yurio try to start again.

 

Jumps were obviously out of the question, and spins would require a massive amount of practice to relearn, so he reverted back to the very basics. First he needed to keep steady.

 

_Fake confidence, feel confidence,_ he told himself. _You've been skating all your life, so relearning it can't be such a big deal._

 

He took a deep breath and listened to the sound of his blades gliding over the ice. In his head, he could hear the background noises of a competition seeping into his senses and back out. It was a tremendous strain to maneuver with his balance thrown off, but he was flooded with a sudden strength he couldn't describe as he got the hang of simple movements. He wanted it all back; he wanted to skate.

 

Something took a hold of him. He wanted to take a risk, get back to his old self. He wanted to recover.

 

But maybe the toe loop wasn't such a good idea.

 

As Yurio landed on the ice, Otabek leaned farther over the rail, eyes widening in worry. "Yuri, are you okay? What made you think you should try jumps this early?"

 

Yurio rubbed at his back. "Be quiet, I just messed up," he snapped.

 

Otabek sighed. "It won't work unless you start from the beginning." His face grew serious, and he spoke loudly. "Yuri, do you want this?"

 

"...yes," he said softly.

 

"Do you _really_ want this?"

 

"Yes!" He yelled the word, startling even himself. "I want to skate, okay? I don't think I could live my life without skating. What the hell kind of question do you think you're asking me?"

 

Otabek only shrugged. "You needed to say it yourself."

 

He knew he was right. It upset him that he was reduced to child status again, but there was no point in wishing for miracles. He needed to practice.

 

It was Otabek who said something to break the tension. "Okay, again!"

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek stayed for two weeks before he had to go home. Every day he took Yurio to the rink, even when it opened back to the public.

 

There were many times when Yurio wanted to give up. It was those days he had to remember that it was a choice he'd already made, and he needed to stick to it.

 

A lot was spent on building up his different strengths and learning to compensate for the absence of his arm. He Googled tips and read extensively about Kristy Allison-McDonald and her life, who he found to be a really admirable person. Though she was a syncro skater, Yurio still felt a sort of connection to her.

 

He'd moved back to St. Petersburg a few months after that. Yakov was especially thrilled to see him return to the sport, making sure to remind him at least once a week that he'd made a good decision. Yurio had missed his old rinkmates, even if Mila did hug him too much, and he was glad to see them again. Though he didn't admit that. Thankfully they didn't use his predicament as an excuse to go easy on him. He still trained just as hard, if not harder, as he used to. Many times he fell trying to learn his spins and he still couldn’t quite hold them for very long, but progress was progress.

 

Even Viktor and Yuuri had offered their assistance. When they happened to cross paths, Viktor would volunteer to go through his routine with him as many times as he needed. Yuuri did the same, as well as giving him small pep talks to pass the time. Yurio has mostly declined the offers with a scowl, but every now and then he'd begrudgingly allow them.

 

Now, here he was, standing just outside the entrance in the low-lit hallway, waiting for his turn. A local competition had come up, and he'd been persuaded to enter it. A costume of swirling gray, white and teal hugged his frame, with a soft teal flower falling down his right shoulder. His hair had grown out a bit in the past year, and it was now tied neatly in a ponytail past his shoulders.

 

Yurio spotted Otabek sitting with Yuuri and Viktor on the other side of the rink. The couple looked ecstatic with anticipation as they watched the skater before him finish his routine. Otabek looked like he was concentrating on something, a funny juxtaposition beside the other two. He made it a point to thank all of them later for helping him get this far, no matter how awkward he'd sound doing it.

 

Yurio felt his nerves melt away. He could do this. He was ready to crush the impossible into nothing but dust.

 

He was coming back.

 

 

 


End file.
